


Notare

by apoptoses



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Scarification, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9011377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apoptoses/pseuds/apoptoses
Summary: Seeing the Verger brand always inspired in him the jealousy one would experience upon seeing the name of a former lover tattooed on Hannibal’s skin. It felt absurd. Hannibal had never had any love for Mason, but there Will was, scowling at the Verger crest. “Branding over it would be difficult, but possible. You would need to craft tools in the exact design you wish to create and then burn over those areas,” Hannibal said. “It would be simpler to augment the design using a scalpel.”“Is that what you want for Christmas? For me to lay you out and cut you?” Will asked.“Yes,” Hannibal said, voice tight and breathless at the idea. “I would like that very much.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PKA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PKA/gifts).



> The way Hannibal and Will go about this isn't very sanitary, so please, dear readers, don't try this at home.
> 
> A gift for pka42 on tumblr for the hannigram holiday exchange ♥

“What do you want for Christmas?” Will asked.

Hannibal lay curled up against Will’s side, face pressed into the curve of his throat as they dozed together; both reluctant to leave the bed and set their feet upon the cold floor. The grey winter skies were no great indicator of the time. Somewhere past ten in the morning, Will supposed. 

He had always thought Hannibal would be a stickler for a tightly scheduled life: up at seven, lunch on the table by eleven. Instead they had settled into a life of idleness, drifting from bedroom to kitchen as they pleased. Sometimes they spent days on end at the house, only leaving when Hannibal found himself in great need of groceries. 

It was a life of indulgence Will had never imagined himself as having. But as the days slipped by, it was increasingly becoming a life he couldn’t imagine himself not having.

There was a certain, possessive thrill that came with knowing that Hannibal was content to mold his day to Will’s whims. The beast of his nightmares had become the beast that lay at his side, basking in Will’s every touch.

Hannibal arched his back, wordlessly guiding Will’s hand to trace down the ridges of his spine. “I already have everything I could want for,” he murmured.

“That’s a cop out answer,” Will said and pinched Hannibal’s side. Hannibal made no complaint. 

He was halfway back to sleep, eyes closed and mind beginning to doze, when his fingers found the tight, shiny mark of the Verger brand. Frowning, he absently followed the outline of the crown and then pulled his hand away entirely as though the skin was still burning.

“I hate that.”

“The brand?”

Will nodded. “Mason didn’t even bother to have it centered properly.”

“I believe he placed it off-center in the hopes of it bothering me.”

“Does it?” 

“It certainly isn’t one of my favorite aspects of my appearance. Fortunately for me, I never have to look upon it.”

“But I do.”

Will edged out from under Hannibal. Stretched out on his side, he examined the scar. 

Seeing it always inspired in him the jealousy one would experience upon seeing the name of a former lover tattooed on Hannibal’s skin. It felt absurd. Hannibal had never had any love for Mason, but there Will was, scowling at the Verger crest. 

The rampant boar seemed to stare back, its open mouth mocking him.

“Isn’t there some way to get rid of it?” Will muttered. 

Hannibal looked back him with an amused little smile. “Not unless you intend to flay my entire back and graft on fresh skin. It could be altered, however.”

“How?”

“Branding over it would be difficult, but possible. You would need to craft tools in the exact design you wish to create and then burn over those areas,” Hannibal said. “It would be simpler to augment the design using a scalpel.”

Will traced his finger over the boar’s head, envisioning tiny drops of blood welling in its wake. The blood gathered and blossomed into a pair of antlers, then disappeared.

“I think you’re putting too much faith in my artistic abilities,” Will said.

“Any mark that comes from your hand is one I would wear with pride.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t care if I carved a giant dick into your back?”

Hannibal gave him a dry look from over his shoulder. Will grinned.

“I’m kidding,” he said and leaned into to press a kiss to the base of Hannibal’s spine, reveling in the way it made him inhale sharply. It was so easy to pull little sounds from him. Barely the brush of Will’s lips could make him gasp. “Is that what you want for Christmas? For me to lay you out and cut you?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, voice tight and breathless at the idea. “I would like that very much.”

Will’s hands slid down Hannibal’s sides until he could grasp at his hips. Holding him tightly, he trailed kisses across the delicate skin of Hannibal’s lower back. Will licked a wet stripe and then pulled away to blow on it, watching the goosebumps that sprung up in response.

“How hungry are you?” Will asked.

“Not enough to ask that you stop doing what you’re doing.”

Will jerked down the covers. The day could wait.

\---

Will had been thrumming with a quiet, nervous anticipation since they’d rolled out of bed that morning. Dinner had been torture. Every slice of the knife through the roast Hannibal had prepared had reminded him of the opportunity that awaited him. By the time Hannibal had gone to arrange the living room and gather the tools, Will had been dizzy with the thought that he would finally get the chance to cut into Hannibal’s skin.

He paused in the doorway to survey the scene before him. The fire crackled, its warm glow mingling with the light from the Christmas tree to cast shadows across Hannibal’s body. 

Hannibal had set the blade in his hand and lay down before the fireplace, nude and vulnerable. Not so many years ago, Will would have seen him as a lamb leading itself to slaughter. He would have imagined all the ways to angle the scalpel upwards and inwards to cause the most damage.

Now it was the ultimate act of love: the permission to create an indelible mark of possession. Hannibal would carry his design with him always, just as Will carried the slash across his stomach.

His heart pounded in his ears. He turned the scalpel in his hand, watching the way the edge reflected the firelight.

“This is a weird way to spend Christmas,” Will said as he got to his knees, straddling Hannibal’s thighs. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this on the bed?”

“I’d rather not stain the mattress.” Hannibal rested his head on his folded arms so that he could look back at Will. “Is it really so strange? Considering who we are and what we’ve both done?”

Will shrugged. His hand was trembling, though whether it was from excitement or nerves he wasn’t sure. He mentally willed it to steady.

“I’ve fantasized so many times about drawing blood from you but somehow none of them were as thrilling as this.”

“No fantasy can ever come close to the actual act,” Hannibal said. “Does it excite you more to draw blood, or to know the mark you leave behind will be permanent?”

“Which excites you?” Will asked as he ran the dull side of the scalpel over Hannibal’s skin, practicing the line he’d made with his first cut.

Hannibal looked back at him with pupils so dilated they nearly swallowed his irises whole. “One need not preclude the other, I think.”

With a deep breath, Will set the blade to skin.

He watched with fascination as a thin red line followed each stroke of the scalpel, beads of blood welling up like jewels in the firelight. That morning Hannibal had shown him how deep to cut using an orange. The sweet, sticky juice had run down Will’s fingers as he carved swirling lines into its flesh. Now it was Hannibal’s blood on his hands instead.

Unable to help himself, Will ran his fingertip through the blood and then sucked it clean.

“I thought you intended to carve a new design,” Hannibal asked, voice unsteady.

“I do. Just testing my medium.” Will smoothed his hand over Hannibal’s side. “Relax.”

The boar’s open snout closed, fangs peeled away by Will’s hand and set aside in a small metal bowl. What little of its tail that had scarred fused to its back. Under Will’s guidance it became a stronger, larger beast; one with antlers that curved up and intertwined with the Verger crown. 

Hannibal never flinched.

Bit by bit, the Verger name was cut away into an abstract filigree. Had Will been a more talented artist he would have made it into flowers. Something symbolic. One day he’d go back and add some blossoms among the twisted lines, he thought.

Time stretched on. Will wasn’t sure if it was taking minutes or hours to outline each shape and then free the scrap of flesh from Hannibal’s body. Each wound that was left behind filled with blood. It would have been smarter to wipe them clean, but Will preferred to let the blood trickle down Hannibal’s side and stain the sheet he was lying on. 

Some part of him wanted to keep it, as a morbid memento of that night. Perhaps he would so they’d have it for next time.

By the time he was finished, final bit of filigree plucked from Hannibal’s back and placed in the bowl, Will was trembling again. 

“Do you want to see now?” he asked.

“I’d like that very much.”

Hannibal had thought to bring a mirror along with the supplies. Hands smeared with blood, Will held it up so Hannibal could see the results. The boar was gone, replaced by a proud stag.

Hannibal craned his head to look at his reflection. “I’m not sure which is lovelier: your hands or your work.”

“My work, I’d hope. Considering you have to live with it for the rest of your life.” Will set the mirror on the floor. 

As he bent to kiss Hannibal’s shoulder he ran a hand over his bloody ribs, smearing the mess over Hannibal’s skin. It reminded Will of the night they’d slain Dolarhyde. He’d wanted, then, to ravish Hannibal’s blood stained skin but there hadn’t been the time or the safety to do so. Now, however-

“Is it a sufficient Christmas gift?” Will asked, idly dragging his nails over Hannibal’s side.

Hannibal sucked in his breath sharply. “There is something more you could do.”

“And that is?”

“You’ve made quite the mess,” Hannibal said, reaching back to take Will’s hand and bring it to his lips. “You should stay here and help me clean it up.”

Will leaned in, heedless of staining his shirt, and caught Hannibal in a hard, deep kiss. The tang of iron filled his mouth. “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
